The Fates
by Imitating Licentiousness
Summary: Shortly after the Queen's coronation, an evil much older than Ravenna rises. The Huntsman has gone to battle his own demons, leaving Snow White to call on William for aide. Liberally based on Jorinda and Joringel, with cameos from other fairy tale persons.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Author's Note:** This is going to be around the size of a novella. I would really love to do a ridiculously grandiose, 152-chapter story for this pairing, but with two jobs, I just don't have time. So instead it's just a simple story, probably around ten chapters or so, and maybe when life calms down, I can revise it into what I'd like it to be.

In the meantime, you're going to see some characters from other tales from the Brothers Grimm. The premise is loosely based on Jorinda and Joringel, whose names I have changed to John and Jordana, because, let's face it, nobody in their right minds is that matchy-matchy these days. You're also going to see a few other faces for those that are familiar with their fairy tales and fairy creature bestiary, such as Mother Holle, The Washerwomen, and The Twelve Huntresses, to name a few. If you know your fairy tales and folklore, it will probably make a bit more sense to you. Not every fairy tale mention here will be Grimm's, either. Some are Celtic and Scottish myth, some of the ideas I got came from Andrew Lang's collection of Fairy Books.

Due to my busy schedule, I have the story written in a notebook longhand, and updates will only come when I've had time that week to type up what I've already written, not to mention longer if I choose to change the plot around.

Please be kind, and, if you like the story, review it. Review it even if you don't like it. It helps me become a better writer. But reviewing is a really simple thing to do, and occasionally can make the difference between an author having a terrible day or an uplifting one.

* * *

Once upon a time, a farmer and his eldest son walked side by side along the edge of their golden wheat field. Scythes rested over their shoulders, as evening was coming on, and having worked all day, they were hungry men and were looking forward to the stewed meat and potatoes they knew waited for them in the workhouse. The wheat was planted in immaculate rows, and the son counted them absent-mindedly as they walked by. The golden stalks swayed in the breeze, and the farmer and his son spoke of how their new queen was the catalyst of the verdant growth. Their farm was at the southeastern most border of the kingdom, and all the land they owned and worked had flourished since the removal of the former queen.

A loud cry from the nearby forest jerked them out of their tranquility, their gold-filled moment gone. The farmer grasped his scythe and his son raised his high, ready to strike if any creature came for them from the trees.

Another cry arose. "Help me!" It was a man's voice, not full of pain, but of fear and despair.

The farmer and his son did not hesitate to rush towards the sound, their tools-turned-weapons at the ready.

"We are coming to help you! Where are you?" the farmer yelled into the air.

"I am here!" the man called. "Please, come quickly! I am quite trapped!"

The two hurried to the sound of the man's voice, crashing through the foliage, branched whipping them in their faces. Not terribly far into the trees, there came a meadow, and the two were more than surprised to find a young man standing alone in a field of yellow flowers, appearing to be quite unharmed.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the farmer's son, irritated at having abandoned his dinner to rescue a moron from a cluster of untrimmed weeds.

"Please help me!" the young man cried out piteously. "I cannot move. I am rooted to this very spot!"

The farmer and his son exchanged a look. They each took a side, and attempted to hoist the man off of the ground. He stuck fast. The farmer frowned. He looked at his son, vexed.

"How did you come to be stuck?" he asked the young man.

"I was out walking with me beloved. We are to be married this spring." The young man tried hard to suppress a sob, and looked for all the world as though he might die of misery right there on that extremely fixed spot. "There she is." He nodded his head in the direction of a nearby oak, where a nightingale was perched, watching the trio intently.

The son scowled, and looked at his father.

The farmer shrugged, not entirely certain of what to make of the entire situation. "Stranger things have happened."

A large shadow passed over all three. They all looked up to see an enormous owl, larger than any of them had ever seen or even heard of, circling overhead. Its feathers were so very black they almost glowed blue at the tips, and its wingspan was a good fourteen feet across. It seemed to leer down at them as prey. Its eyes did not shine yellow like most owls; instead, they were a milky black, with no iris nor pupil, just a void, stirring black.

They stood as men hypnotized, staring straight up, until the owl unexpectedly dove.

"Duck!" the farmer yelled.

His son and he cowered to the ground, each throwing an arm over the young man in an attempt to shield him, supporting him as he hunched over the ground.

Just before the owl could make it near to them, there was a flash of purple-blue light and a crackle. There was a slight rustle of clothing, and then a deep, throaty, yet feminine voice said quietly, "You have trespassed upon my domain."

The three men slowly looked up at the woman standing before them. She was tall, as tall as some men, and wore a long gray peplos which trailed behind her. She had olive-colored skin, full lips, and long hair that fell in ringlets down to her waist. Her hands were clasped, and she stared down at them with a look of clear disdain, spoiling her beauty.

"My Lady?" the young man who was stuck to the ground peered up at her, sorrow etched deep into his features. "If we have trespassed on your land, we offer you our most sincere apologies, for it was done without our knowledge-" He managed to say this without a single quake in his voice.

"Not all three of you," she said irritably, waving him quiet. "You and the woman." She jerked her head towards the nightingale in the oak tree. "Her."

One moment, she was standing before them, and in the next, she had flashed to the oak tree, and seized the nightingale in her fist. In the next second, she stood a hair's breadth in front of them, and was stuffing the poor nightingale, who chirped helplessly, into a gilt cage.

"Please leave her be!" the stuck man pleaded. "We have done nothing to you. She is me cherished one. I beg of you, return her to me!"

The woman held the cage at eye level, admiring her prize, before turning her head to look at the trapped man. She said only one word. "No."

She reached out with a slender arm and tapped the man on his forehead. The sound of a log snapping in a bonfire broke through the air, forcing all three men into unconsciousness. When they awoke, the stuck man could now move, and the woman was gone.

* * *

Some considerable time and distance away, the new queen sat in the Great Hall, listening to a shoemaker, Andre, bring a case against a rival shoemaker, Mueller.

"He is stealing my business!" Andre was telling her, his voice raised. "Three months ago, his shoes were clumsy, thick-soled boots. And now, look! _Just look!_" He held up a new pair, a tiny red suede ladies' slipper with embroidered flowers across the toes. "My wife purchased these so that I might show you. They are exquisite!"

The Queen raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me, sir, but I fail to see the damage here?"

"He is not making them!" Andre cried dramatically, the tips of his ears beginning to grow purple with fury as he jabbed an accusing finger at Mueller.

The Queen suppressed the urge to smile, bemused, and looked at the other man. "Mueller?"

"It's true that I did not embroider the designs. My wife did that, my Queen," Mueller said softly. "As for the shoe, I…I have simply been fortunate enough lately to be able to buy quality materials."

"He is _not_ making them! It's the elves!" Andre screeched, his voice moving to octaves few men possess.

The Queen stared blankly at him, and Andre looked behind him at the courtiers for help, only to find that the Queen's advisors, her ladies-in-waiting, and most of the courtiers were giving him a collective countenance of bewilderment.

"Elves?" the Queen repeated.

"Elves!" shrieked Andre passionately.

The Queen pursed her lips thoughtfully while she planned her response. "Andre. I cannot pass judgment where no crime has been committed. Heir Mueller has a right to earn money, just as anyone else does. His methods of production are of no concern of yours. Perhaps Heir Mueller would be willing to share trade secrets, but that is at his discretion. Go and sell your wares, Andre. There is always someone who needs a good pair of shoes."

Andre's face turned sour, but he made no further comment and turned away, stamping to the exit of the Hall in a curmudgeonly fashion.

"Next!" Beith yelled.

Up came three weary-looking men, an elder one and two young men, early twenties. As they approached, they removed their hats and briefly dipped to one knee in respect.

"My Queen, I come seeking aid," one of the younger men spoke.

"Your name, sir?" asked the Queen.

"John," he told her. He gestured to the other young man. "This is Sean, and Peter, his father. They were with me when it happened, come with me to back up me story."

"What happened?" the Queen asked.

"Me betrothed has been taken from me,' he said, and such sorrow was in his voice, the lighthearted bemusement the Queen had been in but moments before vanished.

"Her name was—is—Jordana," John told her. "She and me are to be married come spring. We were out walking and talking about the wedding near our home in the southeast of the kingdom, near Peter's farm. We realized that we had wandered a bit far and were lost, and suddenly—I know how unlikely this will sound, my Queen, but Jordana was changed, just transformed, right where she stood before me eyes, into a nightingale."

He paused, checking to gauge her reaction for disbelief. While she looked somewhat startled, she showed no signs that she might be thinking about ridiculing him, so he continued. "My feet stuck in the ground, as though I had been chained to a heavy stone, and I could not move. I called for help for hours, and eventually Peter and Sean heard me."

"And there he was, just standin' there, fixed to the ground. We thought for a moment he were joking, but…look at my son, Sean, my Queen. He is strong, years of hard work in the fields have made him so. He can pull a cart full of corn as easily as any beast, but when he tried to move John here, the lad wouldn't budge," Peter said.

"And then the worst part happened," added Sean.

"An owl, larger than any I've ever seen in me many considerable years, circled over our heads," Peter said, raising his arms wide to describe it.

"She swooped down to us, and became a woman," John said. "She said, 'You have trespassed on my domain.'"

"She disappeared for a moment, and reappeared with a gold cage, and shoved the nightingale—me beautiful Jordana—into it," John said. "I begged her to leave us be. I have no idea what we did to anger her so. But she said, 'No,' and struck me on me forehead, and down we went, fast asleep like babes in a cradle. When we awoke, I could move me limbs again." He hung his head. "I just want me Jordana back. I don't know who to go to, my Queen. She is everything to me."

The Queen nodded. "I will speak with my advisors." She stood and strode into a room attached to the Hall specially made for this purpose. Beith, Muir, Quert, Coll, Duir, Gort, and Nion filed in behind her.

"I've never heard of such a thing," the Queen told them.

"There were tales told, long ago," Muir told her quietly. "Long before you were born, my Queen. "I was but a wee child then, and even then, those tales were nigh ancient. They spoke of a witch, who lived in a palace made of obsidian. She captures young girls and rips them away from their sweethearts and turns them into exotic songbirds. Parents used to tell the story to their children to keep them from wandering too far. But I haven't heard that story in decades."

"There haven't been any stories because Ravenna was too busy sucking the life out of the population," Beith said bluntly.

The Queen listened to all of this. "We will send someone to go see."

"A wise decision, my Queen," said Gort gallantly, only to have six of his companions look at him with an eye-rolling expression. "What? It is."

The Queen grinned at him and made her way back to her chair on the raised platform at the head of the Great Hall. She sat down, arranging her skirt neatly.

"We shall send someone to investigate. In the meantime, you are welcome in the court. I imagine you are tired and hungry. Rest, and eat your fill. I will let you know as soon as we hear anything."

At the end of the day, Snow White stood in the aviary, writing out her message.

Greta, who had come up to bring her a fresh candle, asked, "My Queen? Do you write to the Huntsman?" She lit the new candle, replacing the old one.

For the briefest of instances, a grimace spread over the young queen's features, and she looked down to hide it. "No, not the Huntsman. I don't even know…I wouldn't know where to send it." She cleared her throat. "I am writing to William." She glanced over her letter.

_Dear Friend William,_

_ A man from the south of Tabor has come to me for help. His betrothed was captured by a woman, a woman with dark magic. I would go myself if I did not feel that I am needed here so. If you can spare the time and the men, please investigate this matter._

_Your Friend,_

_Snow White_

The Queen rolled it tightly, placed it in a tube, and attached it to a golden osprey before releasing the hawk into the night. She stared out of the window at the waxing crescent of the moon, and remembered looking upon another moon exactly like it two months ago.

* * *

Snow White was pacing the hallways in the early house of the morning. After years of sleeping on a straw-tick mattress, she could not find comfort in the down mattress that awaited her in her chambers. Ravenna had died two days ago, the coronation was yesterday, and now she was exhausted. Yet sleep evaded her. She found herself roaming the castle, exploring rooms and passages she had forgotten even existed.

By chance, she somehow arrived in the main hall leading out into the courtyard. It was still and dark this time of night, save for the candlestick she carried.

A sudden rustling nearly caused her to cry out in alarm, but she managed to clasp her hand over her mouth. The rustling was followed by heavy footsteps, and then Eric came into view.

She was so relieved that she had to laugh. "Eric, you frightened me! I thought-" she stopped abruptly, seeing his knapsack and axe over one shoulder, and the look of relief on her face faded. "What are you doing?"

In the flickering light of the candle, she could see the torment on his face. "I am leaving, my Queen."

"What? Why?"

"I must."

"Must _why_? You are needed here! There is much work to be done! I want you to stay!"

"If I stay…" he lowered his knapsack and axe to the ground. "If I stay, it would not be in your best interests. You have your people; you have-" he paused, "William."

"William is…he is but a friend."

"He wants to be more than that. Naïve you are, Princess, but you know that much. You should let him."

"I do not think of him as—as I think of you." _There, I said it!_

His expression softened. "I must go so that I might become the man you think I am."

"Then you will return?"

He could not meet her eyes. "I shall try."

A lone tear slid down her left cheek. "You must return. I am Queen; I _order_ you to return!" She sobbed. "Please. Promise me you'll come back."

He moved forward to place an arm around her, drawing her forward to hold her. He wrapped his other arm tightly around her, stroking her hair.

"A kiss before you go?" she whispered softly against his chest.

Eric cradled her faced in his hands. He tenderly kissed her forehead, then her left cheek, then her right.

_Leave. Leave, now, _he told himself.

But he couldn't. Not until he'd had a kiss, a real one. Her green eyes met his blue ones, so full of hope and consuming heartache. He bent down and touched his lips to hers.

He had meant to kiss her for a moment and hurry away with his stolen kiss, but the second his lips met hers, his self-control fled the room. He moved his mouth over hers, a hand snaking around her back, pulling her closer. His tongue flicked across her lips, and she opened her mouth, allowing him to fully kiss her.

It was over much too quickly.

He pulled away from her reluctantly, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

"Promise," she reminded him.

"I promise I'll come back."

He pulled away and was gone.

"My Queen?"

The Queen was jostled from her memories, turning around to see Great looking at her expectantly. "Yes?"

"Would Her Majesty like to return to her chambers? It is getting late."

The Queen gave her a small smile, and nodded, following her out of the aviary, shutting the door tightly behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: Mwhahahaha! Betcha though I'd forgotten all about him, didn't ya?

* * *

Eric wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself as he clambered up the rocky slope. Wind whipped his hair around his face, despite his many attempts to tie it back. The shale slipped and broke beneath his feet as he struggled to make his way up, sliding down every couple of steps a foot or so back. He squinted against the wind, looking up the ridge, trying to gage how much further he had to climb. Judging from the angle of the slope, he figured it might take until tomorrow evening. He saw a crack in the side of the mountain he could reach before nightfall. If it turned out to be a cave, it would make a good place to bed down for the night. Using his axe as a walking stick, he made his way that direction.

The sun was more than halfway set on the horizon by the time he reached it. He peered into the crevice, then yelled loudly into it to flush out any bears. Only his echo came back to him. Eric set about gathering twigs and bits of wood from the sparse trees, and arranged them to start a fire. The grass this high was dry from the ragged wind, and by the time he'd gathered enough and bent down to strike the flint and tinder, his hands were shaking from not just the cold.

As the fire began to grow, he pulled a leather flask out of his knapsack. He wasn't going to drink much of the stout liquor contained within, just enough to make it through the night, and leave enough to make it to where he was going. Five nights ago he was fairly certain he'd passed the last village he was going to see on his way, and bought three large flasks. Now there was one left. Even as he took a fiery sip, he hated himself for having done so, but knew he had to have it.

_Just get yourself there_, he told himself. _Soon you won't rely on it anymore. Get yourself there, and she'll help you._

He was up with the sun the next morning. Eggs and half an apple a kind youth had given him when he'd passed a field and helped free a cart stuck in mud made his breakfast. A quick nip to keep the shakes away, a brisk rubbing of his face with water from a mountain stream, and he was back making good time over the crest of the mountain and down into the valley.

He had passed a great many things he wanted to tell Snow about upon his return. He had passed through a kingdom where the king had two wives, one who was his first wife and a second after the first wife passed away from a poison needle. Then the second wife had pulled it out, and they lived as a trio now. There was a field of enchanted flowers that encouraged him. He had passed a palace made of crystal, and a tree bearing golden apples. He had passed an eerie blue light that seemed to follow him for several nights, but it had disappeared a good while back. Eric committed each one to memory, trying to imagine how he would describe them to her.

Towards afternoon, snow began to fall. He stopped for a moment to look at the flakes, the most lacy, perfect six-pointed flakes he had ever seen. It was still cold, but not as bitter cold as it had been on the mountain. The trees blocked the wind from slipping right through his coat to his bones, and the further he went down into the valley, the quicker his steps became. When he paused at a stream that forked three ways, he took a moment to wash his face and hands. After a long drink, he took the middle fork and continued on.

Later, as he was making his way through the brush along the side of the creek, a voice cried out, "Help! Take us out!"

He stopped dead in his tracks. It was a voice unlike any he'd ever heard, somewhere between a child's voice and the sound of a bell.

"We were quite done ages ago! Take us out, please!"

"Where are you?" Eric asked.

"Here!"

Eric went towards the sound of the voice, and, much to his puzzlement, a black baker's oven stood between two oaks as though it were as natural to be there as in any grandmother's kitchen. Opening the door, he could see two loaves of bread baking. Reaching in, he yanked them out one by one, quickly to avoid burning his fingers.

_Well, that was that_, he thought to himself, and continued on his way. He knew this journey would be surreal, but hadn't known he'd be spoken to by inanimate objects.

Not long after that, there was another voice crying out, "Shake me!"

He stopped again, trying to find the source of the voice. "Hello?"

"Shake me! My fruit is ripe and ready to be eaten."

As though it had suddenly grown into existence, Eric saw an apple tree among the oaks, evergreens, and pine.

_This is quite possibly the strangest day I've ever had_, Eric thought, but, as he hadn't anything much better to do, he walked to the tree, grasped a branch firmly, and diligently proceeded to shake every single apple he could see from its branches. Apples rained down around him, and only when no more came down did he step backwards, and, looking a little tickled and more than a little perplexed, he picked up his knapsack and axe again and made his way back to the stream.

He came upon the cottage much sooner than he'd expected, so much so that it startled him. One moment he'd been walking, looking a good distance ahead of him, and the next, a cottage had sprouted into existence, complete with a mill wheel, goats out front, and chickens pecking at the ground. The cottage was quaint, made of stone and plaster with a red brick chimney. A large garden grew to the side, a little overgrown, but he could make out sage, rosemary, basil, and tea roses reaching up from the undergrowth. On the porch, a middle-aged woman sat in a rocking chair. She had light brown-blond hair that was interspersed with white and gray strands that was braided into a bun, and it was easy to see that in her younger days, she had been very lovely. Her lap was covered with a patchwork quilt, and in her hands, she knitted a pair of socks with green yarn.

"Bist du Mutter Holle?" he asked.

His legs felt suddenly like they would carry him no more if she was not the one he'd been looking for. He leaned heavily on his axe. She looked up at him and smile, a calm, welcoming mother's smile.

"Ich bin. Ich habe für dich wate."

She folded her knitting neatly, wound the spare yarn back around the ball it came from, and stood, setting it behind her on the rocking chair. She spoke with a thick accent. "You have come to me for help." It was not a question.

"I have."

"The drink, or the woman?"

"Both."

She nodded, hands on her hips. "I expected as much. Come in, young man. You will eat well and rest tonight, for tomorrow will be a war unlike any you've ever fought."

Mother Holle fed him well. He ate thick chunks of meat drenched in good gravy and puffy white rolls with freshly-churned butter. There were carrots, potatoes, and squash in stew sauce, sun-dried tomatoes flavored with garlic and oil, and sweet pies for dessert. He ate heartily, having gone many weeks on dried meats, half-rotted fruit, and vegetables dug from ditches.

"Tell me, my son, how far have you come?"

"From Tabor. It was a long way, but I have heard of those who journeyed further."

"And how did you hear of me?"

He struggled to find an answer. "I think my grandfather told me of you, once. He said you were a kind woman who helped the needy. I have nothing to pay you with; my hands are empty, but I beg of your help."

"The woman?"

"Aye."

"You helped defeat the dark queen."

"I did."

"And fell in love in the process."

Eric swallowed hard. "I think so."

She raised a knowing eyebrow at him. "You were in love, once. You know what it felt like. Tell me, do you feel for the new queen as you did for Sarah?"

"I don't deserve her. Not the man I am now. I've done terrible things, just to pay for alcohol. Anything to keep the pain away."

"Not the man you were," Mother Holle corrected softly. "You have worked hard to redeem yourself. You are no longer than man. Sarah would be proud."

"I still miss her. How can I love another when I miss her so?"

"Whoever said you had to stop missing her?"

He stopped and looked at her as though the thought had never entered his head.

"There is nothing wrong with missing someone you love. But letting it prevent you from loving again is foolish." She stood, went into her pantry, and came out with an earthenware pot. She poured some of the liquid from it into a clay cup.

Eric could smell the alcohol from where he sat, and kept his eyes on the clay cup as she placed it in front of him.

"This will be your last. You understand this?"

He nodded. Mother Holle pushed the clay cup towards him. He peered into it. The sudden knowledge that he was here, finally, to accomplish this, was suddenly liberating yet simultaneously terrifying. He put the cup to his lips and drank it down. It burned the back of his throat and pooled in his stomach. He tried to stand, and the room bounced, causing him to nearly fall sideways. Eric sunk to his knees, looking at her.

"What was that?" he managed to ask before he was abruptly so dizzy, he fell to his hands on the floor. "What did you give me?"

"Shhh. Nothing that won't be better for you in the long run." She pulled him to his feet with a strength no middle-aged woman should possess, and he leaned against her as she helped him stumble to the back room she had prepared for him.

She helped him lie down on a pallet of soft cotton and goose feathers. He lay still, nearly unable to move.

"This drink," Mother Holle explained, pulling off his left boot. "It helps you flush it out more quickly. The memories _and _the liquor."

He didn't respond. She pulled off his right boot, and his jacket. By the time she had him down to his undershirt, he was asleep.

He awoke the next morning and barely made it outside in time to vomit. He fell to his knees, practically tumbling against the side of the cottage as the waves of sickness washing over him. He closed his eyes, letting the cool of the stone wall seep into him.

"It will pass." Mother Holle suddenly came into being next to him, a gentle hand on his shoulder as she offered him a jug. "It is but water."

He spat, then took the jug from her and began to drink.

"Easy," she told him, beginning to pull the jug back down a little. "Do not drink too fast, as it will make you sick again."

He slowed, and leaned against the wall again, closing his eyes.

"It will get worse before it gets better."

He stood, still putting the vast majority of his weight on the wall. "How much worse?"

She shrugged. "I told you it would be a war." Taking his arm, she returned him to the bed. "Rest. I will bring you breakfast."

Eric felt the bile rise in the base of his esophagus. "No. No breakfast."

She chuckled. "Drink a little more water, then." She held the jug to his lips, and he drank again. "Then rest."

Several more times that first day, he had to run outside to vomit. By evening, he was weak, shaking, and feverish. Mother Holle was patient. She wiped his brow with a cool cloth, gave him more water, and watched over him. He lay on his pallet, miserable and in pain, eyes shut tight. She sang to him.

The next day brought the begging.

"A drink, just one. I beg of you, a drink," he told her when she checked on him in the morning.

Mother Holle shook her head no. "I know it is difficult. Try to remember why you came to me. You made a decision. This is not you begging. This is your addiction."

He shivered, and nodded. Eric managed to stay quiet most of the morning, but around noon time, the begging began again, louder, desperate, and more pained. Mother Holle brought him water and tried to get him to eat. He shook his head, and pleaded for a drink. When the begging turned to swearing, swearing turned to screaming, and screaming turned to him rolling out of bed and into the floor, dragging himself along in an attempt to get up, Mother Holle quickly and quietly slid the door closed and turned down the latch. Then the pounding began.

"A drink, woman! Give me a drink, for the love of God!"

She heard him kick the door.

"Mother, if you have any mercy in you, open the door and give a man a drink! Open the door, you witch! Open it before I tear it down!"

The door shuddered against his battering, but it held tight.

On the third day, he was too hoarse to scream and too debilitated to do much but lie in the floor, shaking and moaning. Mother Holle opened the door, the light shining down on his pathetic, trembling form, and she could hardly get him to take even a mouthful of water. He would not eat.

The fourth day brought the fever. He lay, naked to the waist, a sheen of sweat on his flushed skin, eyes rolling back into his head and lids fluttering. In gasping, choked, broken sentences, he told her of the death he had seen, had been a part of, how the violence had grown in his mind like a hedge of thorns. He told her of his wife, graceful Sarah, and of her murder. He spoke of Snow White, of her beauty, of her good heart. He wept hot, stinging tears, and in his delirium, he had hallucinations. Of Snow White, being tortured, of Ravenna, and all the death she brought wherever she went. Of Sarah, taunting him for abandoning her.

"Forgive me," he whispered to her, over and over again. "Forgive me, my beloved."

"You _left_ me! Why did you leave me, Eric? You weren't there, weren't there when the soldiers came-"

"I'm sorry. I tried…I was…" he found himself unable to get out an intelligible answer, just fumbled words.

The visions seemed to melt right into one another. Second later, he was standing out in the snowy forest with William. Snow White lay on the ground, defenseless, and Ravenna held her dagger high, eyes blazing with lust for youth. Eric was running, running, as fast as he could, and the trees stretched out before him, creating an endless corridor. He watched, screaming, as Ravenna plunged her dagger into Snow's chest and devoured her heart, the ruby blood dripping from her lips.

In another, he watched William give him a wicked, leering grin, pull Snow White close and kiss her while Eric watched, chained to Ravenna's throne.

"I don't want you," Snow White told him, eyes blank and uncaring. And then he was, falling, falling, falling into deep, dark water.

Not water. Blood. He was covered in it, drowning in it, and the corpses of his comrades were pulling him down, down.

Mother Holle held liquid to his lips, a tonic she had concocted, so that he would not remember these monstrous images when he awoke. She held him, stroking his hair like a good mother would, until the last of his unconscious screams left him, and he rested.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Still own nothing.

Please R & R.

* * *

On the fifth day, Eric awoke, feeling clear and present in ways he hadn't felt in years. The door to his room was open, and in the kitchen, the wood-burning stove made the room warm, the table had been moved and a washtub sat waiting for him. Clean clothes had been set out for him on one of the chairs. A straight razor, soap, and lathering brush waited on a table, along with several clean, fluffy towels and washcloths. A small silvered looking-glass was set beside all this. He held it up, examining his reflection. He was paler, but not deathly so. He had lost weight, but not much, and overall, he felt like himself.

He washed, changed, and emerged clean-shaven from the cottage to find Mother Holle sitting out on her porch, drinking strong coffee.

"Good morning," she said. "You must be hungry."

And, to his surprise, he discovered that he was practically ravenous. Back inside, when the washtub had been moved away and the table cleared, Mother Holle had a feast prepared for him that she pulled from her pantry. She pushed a plate into his hands heaped with hard-boiled eggs, sausage, potatoes, biscuits, and several other filling morsels.

"Eat," she told him.

He did, enthusiastically so, and she smiled as she helped herself to a few slices of bacon.

"Do you feel better?" she asked him.

He nodded, and swallowed so he could speak. "I feel like a new man. I…my thoughts…I no longer have the headache. Or the heartache. I miss her, but it no longer feels all-consuming."

Mother Holle nodded and refilled his plate. He ate that, too, and in the middle of his third plate, he finally felt full.

All that day, he was hungry. Mother Holle always had something ready to give to him. He ate like a starved man, savoring each flavor that touched his tongue. He helped her clean the dishes, sweep the kitchen, and offered to chop wood, but she told him no.

"Rest today," she said. "All this can come tomorrow. Here. Drink tea with me."

She poured him a mug of peppermint tea. He held it in his hands, enjoying the warmth and the comforting scent.

"Tell me about Snow White," Mother Holle told him.

"She is my Queen," he answered.

She gave him a knowing look. "She is more than your queen. I have never known a man to fight the battle you just fought for his queen. This woman is worth bettering yourself for. That's why you came to me?"

"Yes."

"The hardest part is done now. But there is much to come. You have forgiven yourself; now you must learn how to love again."

"I still do not feel that I am worthy of her."

"Child, you have a brave soul. But not the most intelligent mind. Do you not see that Sarah gave you all the love that she had so that you might learn to pass it along to someone else? If you didn't feel you could make Snow White happy, you would not have come. Sarah would be sad to see you not move on because of this nonsense notion that you don't deserve someone else. She had a good life with you, but now that life is passed and gone. I see in Snow White a second chance, and more importantly, a future."

"What about William?"

"Ah, William." Mother Holle chuckled to herself and shifted her cup, peering at the leaves in the bottom. "I believe Fate has something more in store for him. Not that he won't give you a run for your money," she added, a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth.

A flame of jealousy that had been relatively small suddenly roared into a bonfire inside Eric.

"But there is still time. She's waiting for you, you see."

"How much time?"

Mother Holle laughed, her pure white teeth flashing in the light. "Time enough. She is quite enamored with you."

He finished his tea, feeling much lighter.

Eric stayed for two more weeks, until Mother Holle was satisfied with his health. He was out on the roof, thatching it for her, when she came out of the back door.

"Tonight will be your last night," she informed him. "It is time you returned. There are happenings you must attend to."

He frowned, then finished his work and went inside. "What kind of happenings?"

She looked up from the loaf of bread she'd been slicing. "Something dangerous. Something Snow White needs your strength for."

"That's very vague," he told her pointedly.

She smiled that knowing smile, and continued slicing her bread. "If I tell you everything, it will not unfold as it was meant to be."

"How much do you see?"

She shrugged. "I see everything and nothing." She pulled a hamper from the pantry and began putting a few things into it—a flint and tinder, dried fruit, a bit of cheese wrapped in oiled paper. "Nothing is every set. Any future can be altered by minor actions. That is why I tell you no more than what you need to know."

"Fair enough." He sat down at the table. "How can I ever repay you for all that you have done?"

She waved her hand as if to shoo away the very thought. "We all bring something to this world. You bring your heart, your bravery, your willingness to fight the good fight. I bring my ability to heal, to nourish. To teach. That is my purpose to this life." Mother Holle sat down across from him. "You have already done great things. Fighting Ravenna was no simple task. Coming out here to purge your demons was no less difficult. You have more tasks that you must complete. Do not lose sight of what you have already accomplish, and what you will accomplish in the future, and all will be well."

They spent that last night sitting in the kitchen, exchanging stories and talking. She sent him to bed fairly early, and woke him in the morning just before the sun rose. He dressed warmly in a new shirt, a heavy-knit fabric she had made for him, and his newly-patched coat and cloak. He had a heavy breakfast, and, after a bear hug to Mother Holle, a gathering of his axe, knapsack, and hamper, and a lumpy package placed into his packet he had been instructed not to open 'until it is time,' Eric was on his way back up the stream that had led him there.

He turned to wave one last time, but when he did, there was nothing but a grove of trees.

* * *

William rode on a fine gray stallion into the gates of his father's hold. The fort bustled with activity. Merchants sold their wares within the grounds. Soldiers practiced training maneuvers. The clang of a blacksmith's hammer rang out in the open air. Somewhere, a group of minstrels idly strummed a tune and sang.

Handing his horse to a stable boy, William went into the hold and made his way to Duke Hammond's study. His father was at his table, looking over a map.

"You sent for me?" William asked.

Duke Hammond looked up and smiled fondly at his son. "Yes. A message has come for you." With a glint in his eye, he gave William the rolled-up scroll. "From the Queen."

William grinned and grabbed the scroll, unraveling it with haste. "It says that a man had come to her kingdom. His beloved was taken from him by a woman, a woman who turned the girl into a songbird." He frowned, confused. "Had I not witnessed such strange occurrences with Ravenna, I daresay I would not believe her." He looked over the letter again. "She requests my aid."

"Then you shall go to her," Hammond said, smacking his son on the shoulder.

William took no time in assembling a small troupe of his best men, and by late afternoon, they were riding towards the Queen's castle.

"My Queen, the watch says that they have seen the Duke's son's flag on the hill. He will arrive within the hour," Beith told her.

The Queen looked up from where she had been examining her father's old journals. Apparently Ravenna hadn't bothered getting rid of them; a servant had found them in storage beneath the keep. In them was valuable advice on years of royal etiquette, military expertise, executive decisions. She had spent a lot of time in here since her coronation.

"Would you tell them to bring him straight in when he arrives?" the Queen asked.

"Of course, my Queen."

The Queen went to her chambers before presenting herself before her people. Her handmaidens brushed her hair, putting it up into a braided bun and arranging her simple crown on top. She walked from her chambers down to the Great Hall, where Beith announced her as she sat on her Counsel Chair. She sat, speaking with a few of the courtiers, before Gort came in and called out, "William, son of Duke Hammond, has arrived."

All the courtiers stood as William and seven tall knights came into the Hall, pausing several feet away from her raised seat and bending to one knee.

Snow White pondered for a moment on how ridiculous all the displays of formality were, but curtsied and stepped forward to take his hand.

"It is wonderful to see you, my Queen," William told her, smiling his boyish smile.

"And you," the Queen told him. "Come. Let us walk in the gardens. With fall coming on, the colors are vivid."

He offered her his arm and she accepted as they walked out of the Great Hall into a corridor. They came to a door leading out to the Queen's private gardens, and they stepped out into the sunlight.

"How was your ride?" she asked as they made their way down one of the hedges.

"It was fine. The trees are lovely this time of year."

She stopped to admire one her favorite trees, a sugar maple. "They are."

They were silent for a moment, the slightly awkward silence of people who don't entirely know what to say to one another.

"So," William said, looking down at her. "A witch who goes about turning women into songbirds."

"I admit, it does sound bizarre," she answered, suppressing a laugh. "However, with all the Ravenna could do, I have decided never to doubt much of anything again."

"I will go at first light, if it pleases you," William said, standing under the maple with her. "Although I must ask, why have you not called upon the Huntsman for such an adventure?"

Her visage became a complete and utter mask. "He has gone," Snow said simply, and turned, leaving the cover of the maple.

William knew well enough not to touch that one. Instead, he went towards her rose bushes, which were full of late pale yellow blooms. "These are growing magnificently."

"Yes," she agreed. "It was so bleak in here after Ravenna, nothing but ashes and dry dirt. But they are doing well now. This is only some of it. The crops and orchards are splendid. My agricultural overseer tells me we shall have a bumper crop this year."

She walked over to sit on the rim of her fountain. "I was so happy when we got the fountain working. I completely forgot we had it. Do you remember how we used to play in it?"

William smiled, reminiscing. "We used to throw in coppers and make wishes."

She trailed her fingers along the cool surface of the water. Koi swam up to inspect, and she smiled. "And what did you wish for?"

He grinned. "Boys' things, probably. A sword. Monsters to fight, dragons to slay." His grin faded. "It wasn't much fun when we actually had a real monster arrive."

Snow White looked up. "She is gone now."

William nodded, then dug into his pockets, finding a small silver piece instead of a copper. He held the piece in his palm for a moment, closed his eyes tightly, then flipped the coin into the fountain with a flick of his thumb. He turned to her.

"I cannot tell you my wish," he told her knowingly, "Else it will not come true."

Snow White gazed into the fountain, wondering if she made her wish, would Eric come back?

"Snow?" William's questioning voice yanked her from her thoughts.

She looked up at him expectantly.

"Should we go inside? I hate to admit it, but my travels this evening have made me quite famished." He offered her his arm.

"Yes, of course." She took his arm politely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Still own nothing.

* * *

At first light, William and his group of seven men arose and began the ride to the edge of the kingdom, taking John, Peter, and Sean along as guides. The journey itself lasted several days, and the men got to know one another, developing a cheerful camaraderie as they made their way to Peter's farm. They would speak at night around the campfire, and John told them of his Jordana, how she was the milkmaid's daughter and he was a shepherd.

"She is the prettiest girl in our village, she is," John told them. "Has hair the color of honey, and a laugh sweet as bells. I couldn't believe it, the day she agreed to marry me. I could hardly believe she was me own."

"We will do everything we can to get her back," William assured him.

When the long ride was over and they had reached the edge of Peter's field, venturing into the wood, they were forced to dismount. The horses stubbornly refused to go any further, rearing and snorting when spurred, but remaining firmly fixed where they stood.

"Peter and Sean—you should stay with the horses. John can lead us from here," William decided.

If John seemed at all hesitant about returning to face the Owl-Woman, he didn't show it. He nodded at Peter and Sean, brushing past them to lead William and his men into the meadow of flowers, eyes sweeping across the tall grass.

"Your bravery shows your devotion to her," William whispered to him as they made their way into the meadow.

"I live only for her," John answered, hand at his knife belt, ready to seize it at a moment's notice.

"I can relate," William muttered to himself.

They were at the point now in the meadow where all the men had realized there were no sounds, no birds, no squirrels, nothing. It was onerous, and the men found themselves looking at one another warily. Bushes had begun to thin out, the trees were at their back, and they were making their way well into the field.

The group steadily worked their way forward, until Wlliam came to the abrupt shocking discovery that he could no longer move his legs. He called out to his men, shouting for them to halt. For John and two others, it was already too late.

"This happened last time," John called to him, trying unsuccessfully to free his feet from nothing.

William shouted for the men who hadn't reached the trapping point to go back into the wood with Peter and Sean to keep watch.

They remained this way for the rest of the day.

Towards evening, a large shadow swept over them from above.

"It's her! It's her!" John hissed, looking fearfully into the sky.

William looked upwards, seeing a gargantuan owl. It circled overhead, eyeing each of them, before suddenly diving to the ground. Just before the owl looked as though it would swoop and harm them, a cloud of thick grey smoke burst forth from its feathers. When the smoke cleared, a statuesque brunette stood before them.

She looked squarely at John, an expression of complete menace and loathing plain on her face. "I have told you once that you trespassed upon my domain. Yet here you stand, and you have brought makers of war with you."

"My Lady, I only want me Jordana back," John said respectfully. "When we came, we did not know it was your domain-"

The scratches on his cheeks appeared before they saw her move. Three long, deep gashes along both sides of his face. He took in a sharp breath of hair, but did not cry out.

"You will hold your tongue and learn your place!" she roared.

"My Lady," William began, "This is an unfair sentence. He has done you no wrong. You are on the land of Her Majesty the Queen Snow White. You hold no domain to be trespassed upon."

The woman stalked over to William with slow yet determined footsteps, looking down at him. "I was here long before the girl-child queen. I was here before Ravenna, that self-obsessed fool, was living her first lifetime. Everyone forgot my stories during her poisonous reign." She made a wide circle around the few men, looking at each one in the eye as she passed. "In the years before, the people knew to give my land a wide berth. Now people will remember. Your Jordana was the first sacrifice." She reached out, trailing her onyx-tipped fingers down John's throat, before gripping it. "She belongs to me now, as do all women who trespass."

"Let him go," William demanded, his jaw set.

The woman quirked an eyebrow up at him in amusement. "Or you will…?"

He struggled against his unseen restraints. "Who are you? Why have you such hatred?"

"I am Thalassa," she said with a swell of pride. "Because, William, I seek to destroy that which destroyed me. But," Thalassa said, releasing John, "I am merciful. You will act as my harbinger. Take your warmongers and tell the girl-child queen who I am. I am Thalassa, the Scorned. Thalassa the Ruiner. Thalassa, who was betrayed in the worst of ways. I have returned to seek my revenge."

Dark eyes wide, a terrible, taunting smile growing across her cranberry-red lips, she clapped her hands together. The same dark cloud of smoke that she had appeared with flared up, and then she was gone. William discovered that he could suddenly move again, and he looked left and right, examining his men to see that they were all right. "Come. Let us return to the castle, swiftly."

* * *

The way back to Tabor was easier going than it had been leaving it. Eric had stopped at various villages and camps along the way to Mother Holle's, his addiction causing him to have need to slow down and rest, to work a few hours to buy ale or cheap whiskey in small amounts.

Now, his head was clear and his spirits were high. Looking through his bag, he had found a purse of gold coins at the bottom that Mother Holle had tucked in for him. He'd been able to buy a good horse, a chestnut-colored stallion whom Eric had named Heyne. Heyne was a good companion, and had the most personality of any horse Eric had ridden. Every morning, Heyne would not-so-tenderly nudge him awake, snorting that he wanted his breakfast. If the horse was tired or didn't feel like crossing a particularly cold stream, he wouldn't budge. They'd camp overnight, and in the morning, after the horse had eaten his oats, he'd trot to the creek and turn to Eric as if to say, "Well, let's go."

Eric had been making good time. He imagined that within a week and a half, he'd be back in the kingdom, possibly another three or four days after that to the castle.

It was still bitter cold, but he wasn't nearly as bothered by it. It kept him warm to think about standing before her again, a sober, unbroken man, ready to become the kind of man she deserved. He chased away the dark shadow that filled him with uncertainty about how she deserved much more.

He knew he didn't deserve her. Of that much, he was certain. William would no doubt be a better match. But there was still the idea in his mind that William might not be able to make her happy. He knew that she felt for him; that was obvious. He only hoped that she would not have decided in the meantime that she preferred William.

Eric could see low trails of smoke rising over the next hill. That meant chimneys, which meant civilization. From here on out, the road would be easier. He leaned forward and patted Heyne.

* * *

The Queen looked up from her father's journal in the study as William and John burst into the room, and Greta, who had been pulling down a book from the shelf, nearly dropped it.

"I am relieved you are back. I sent searchers for you two days ago!"

William nodded. "We came across them on our way back."

"What happened?"

"We found her, all right," William said breathlessly, yanking off his cloak. "She proclaimed herself Thalassa the Ruiner. She said she has been here longer than Ravenna, and that she has returned to extract her revenge." He sank down on the seat in front of the fire, puzzled and worried.

"Her revenge?" the Queen sat down across from him, arranging her skirts.

John looked at William and began to speak, but, at a loss for words, he shook his head.

William held his hands open in a clueless gesture. "I haven't the faintest idea. She said she was going to destroy that which destroyed her. Yet she let us all go. I believe," he said, leaning forward, "she only intends to harm women."

"Thalassa the Scorned," the Queen murmured. She looked to Greta. "Please go and bring my advisors."

Greta hurried off.

"She called Ravenna a self-absorbed fool. Her powers…I believe she may have abilities that would easily rival Ravenna's."

The Queen looked at him, alarmed.

"I do not know her intentions, if this vengeance is carried out only if someone treads upon her domain, or if she intends to attack…I don't know."

"We must alert the local villages," the Queen told him. "Let them know their women must be kept safe."

Beith, Muir, and the rest of the dwarves came in through the doorway, Coll and Duir getting caught together trying to enter simultaneously. They rolled their eyes at one another.

"My Queen?" asked Beith expectantly.

"Can you tell me anything you might know about Thalassa the Ruiner?" she asked.

Muir frowned for a moment. Then stroking his chin, he cleared his throat. "It makes more sense now."

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and bent their heads toward him intently. John, who had been fairly quiet until now, asked, "What does?"

"Thalassa was one of the first queens of this land. It's been several hundred years now."

"What happened?" asked the Queen.

"She was a lovely queen, intelligent and kind. There was a young man who was found wandering lost in the forest nearby. He was a prince from a nearby kingdom, a spell cast on him had caused him to go blind. She loved him immediately, and took him in to her obsidian palace. Time passed, and she broke the spell with her tears, and his sight returned. He loved her, too, and promised to marry her after he had returned to his parents—he had been away for some time. She missed him greatly while he was gone, but focused on the wedding preparations.

"Meanwhile, he returned home, and met a shepherdess so enthralling he forgot all about his beloved Thalassa. He married the shepherd girl and made her his queen, and all the while Thalassa waited for him to return. When months passed, she became ill with worry, and began scouring the land to find him. She came across a kingdom, where the people spoke of their shepherd-queen and the prince who had regained his sight so miraculously.

"She traveled to his castle and demanded to see him. He refused her for three months, and at the end of the third month, she went mad from heartbreak. Her heart turned to stone, and she fled into the dark forest. There, she mustered all her hatred, anger, and agony, and summoned the Dark Ones, and sold her soul so that she might take her vengeance. They gave her many powers, and from then on, whenever a young woman stumbles upon her, she punishes the couple so that they know the suffering that she herself felt."

The group sat quietly for a moment. The Queen stood and paced, arms wrapped around herself. "I wish to speak with her," she finally said.

All at once, the room burst into objections.

"Absolutely not!" William nearly bellowed.

"My Queen, I recommend that you reconsider," Beith told her.

The Queen nodded at him. "I know it sounds strange and unwise. But obviously, she is not going to simply go away, and, like any restless spirit, I feel that if we ease her suffering, perhaps she might…pass on? I cannot allow such a danger to remain free to wreak havoc on the people of my kingdom." She turned, giving each man a searching look before asking, "Can you think of a different course of action?"

No one uttered a word.

"I insist on accompanying you," William said, looking up at her.

She smiled. "I wasn't about to argue." She turned to the rest. "We shall act as though it is a diplomatic mission, a mission of goodwill. But she must know that I am Queen and I will not tolerate her cruelty."

* * *

Preparations were made. The Queen would go see Thalassa with the advisors, a sub-unit, William's unit, and John. A fresh banner had been made to carry before the procession. A small gift had been prepared—the Queen did not feel as though Thalassa should be rewarded for her cruelty, and the gift was a cherry blossom sprout, ready to be planted and grown.

The Queen stood in her bedchamber, trying to pack, but her ladies-in-waiting kept insisting that they should be the ones to do it. Finally she gave up, and walked down the hall to her study to read. She flopped unceremoniously into her chaise lounge by the fire. She wrapped a blanked around her shoulders and attempted to read to quiet her thoughts, but even that did not help, and instead she stared into the flames, worrying about the journey. She wished Eric were there, and hoped that wherever he was, he was warm and safe.

The fire flickered as the door behind her opened. Snow sat up, alarmed, peering over the back of the chaise to see William knocking as he entered.

"You startled me," she laughed nervously as he came in.

"My apologies," he said quietly, coming around the side of the lounge. "I thought you might be wakeful."

She drew her blanket more tightly about herself. "You thought correctly." Snow began to stand.

"No, no, don't get up," he told her. "May I sit?"

She smiled politely and gestured at the open chair diagonal from her. He sank down into it, clasping his hands in front of him. "I still can't believe all this is happening. Sometimes I think it's all just some cruel dream that I'm only asleep and Ravenna is still on the throne."

"I understand completely. It's so surreal. I can't make myself go into the dungeon tower for fear that I will wake up. And I cannot—will not—sleep in my father's chambers."

"I cannot lose you again," William blurted.

Snow shook her head. "You will not, William."

"All these years have gone past. For more than a decade, I thought you dead. My little comrade, torn apart piece by piece in my nightmares, again and again. To have you back, so close, close enough to touch-" he reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb, not seeming to register the small jump she gave at the intimate gesture—"You are intoxicating, enchanting. You have awakened my heart from its slumber. I cannot bear to part from you."

"William-"

"I am afraid for you. What if Thalassa does something to you and I never see you again? I would be a broken man-"

"William, I…" Her eyes shimmered. "You are my friend. I care so deeply for you, truly I do. I always pray for your safety."

"And?" he asked expectantly.

"And I honestly…I can't say that I feel the same kind of affection for you. There is affection, yes, but I…I feel it more strongly for someone else."

Realization dawned in his eyes, and he drew back from her, standing. "The Huntsman."

She nodded.

"But—but he is not even here!" William sputtered. "Where is he in your time of need? He _left _you!"

"He will return," Snow said stiffly. "He promised me."

"A rogue like that! I'm surprised he did not make off with half the treasury! Have you checked the silver?"

Her soft glance turned hard, and anger flared warningly in her eyes. "Be careful, William. He took nothing. He is a much better man than what you give him credit for."

"What if he takes weeks? Months? Years?"

"I will wait."

"What if he _never_ comes back? You could waste your entire life away, waiting for someone who is not going to return!"

She stood and stalked away from him, then opened the door and looked pointedly at it, then at him.

"Snow…I can't imagine how it must have been for you all those years, trapped in that tower. I know you do not trust easily and you may fear love, but love is here, right in front of your eyes. In the forest, when you died, I kissed your frozen lips, and my soul died with you-"

"What?" she looked up at him.

"When you died, I mourned. I wept and begged you to come back to life."

"You kissed me?"

The anxious line of concern on his forehead deepened. "I did. In the forest. Ravenna had just gone. You faded away, and there was nothing I could do."

_Yet I did not wake for days_, thought Snow. A vague thought came to her involving Eric; she shoved it to the back of her mind for later.

"William…I do feel affection for you, as I have said." She tensed herself, trying to find the correct words.

"Perhaps, in time, that affection might grow into something more?" The ragged plead in his voice was almost too much for her to bear.

She felt a tear roll down her cheek, but shook her head no. "I am sorry, William."

He stood, nodding to himself.

"You will always have my friendship. You are my oldest friend," she said, knowing how hollow and unhelpful it sounded and hating herself for it.

He nodded again, bowed, and wordlessly exited the room.

Snow resumed her position on the lounge, gazing into the flames. Sleep did not come for a long time.


End file.
